


Who We Were, and Who We Will Be

by blubird1208



Series: In the end, we'll all become stories. [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of the prank, Forehead Touching, M/M, POV Multiple, The Heat of the Summer, The Marauders - Freeform, aka elbow holding, contemplative remus, fluffy and angsty (lightly angsty), i didn't really edit it so i apologize for the mistakes, lingering glances, lots of sun, the adventures of being gay in the 70's, the brushing of fingers, victorian sexual tension, warm summer breeze and confessions, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29969799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blubird1208/pseuds/blubird1208
Summary: He closes his eyes and tries to replay the years. He wants to smell the stale sunscreen, hear the echoes of race you there’s and irrational do a flip’s, feel the grass grow and get stomped under feet around him, taste the change in the air. He wants to see if he can find the exact moment they stopped being boys and started being young men. The moment James’s shoulders broadened, and he started thinking, being rational, responsible. The exact second Sirius suddenly had a defined face and recognized his mistakes, and apologized for them. Even, even the day Peter lost the glint in his eyes that only came from being a kid who didn’t know that the world was sharp and out for blood. The moment they could no longer pretend they hadn’t grown up a long time ago.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: In the end, we'll all become stories. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2204217
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Who We Were, and Who We Will Be

**Author's Note:**

> alright, so i wrote another summer oneshot. i started it at the same time as waterlogged lizards, i just didn't finish it until now. as i'm writing this i still don't have a title. anyway this a story greatly made up of internal monologues and Gay Thoughts. 
> 
> Playlist
> 
> Place We Were Made - Maisie Peters  
> Night Changes - One Direction  
> The Circle Game - Joni Mitchell  
> Changes - David Bowie  
> We Are Young - Fun.  
> House of Memories - Panic! At the Disco

> _ "It's hard to think about growing up when you're right in the middle of doing it.  _
> 
> _ It's hard to know what you want.  _
> 
> _ Sometimes there are so many voices in your head it's difficult to know which of them is yours."  _
> 
> _ \- Kevin Brooks _

*** * ***

‘Growing up’ is such an indefinite thing. There’s an infinite amount of ways to go about it --growing up that is. It can be a gradual thing; a series of events or just the natural course of life. Or it can be thrust upon you with one singular thing. You don’t always have a choice, sometimes the growing up happens without you. It can be the break or the build. The glue or the crack in the foundation. Oftentimes you blink and you miss it; you’re left wondering:  _ what happened?  _ Within the perpetual state of  _ growing up,  _ certain moments, landmarks in the memory of a life, claim themselves as  _ growing up moments _ . The saddest day isn't one that contains a  _ growing-up moment _ . It’s the day you realize you  _ have  _ grown up. You’ve done it. And now you’re fucking empty. 

Unfortunately, four boys didn't get to choose to grow up.

One had the task forced upon him at four. 

Another at seven. 

The third is stumbling with it and has been for a while. 

The last makes the wrong choice; one that strips him of all innocence, later on. 

These four boys; Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, and Peter Pettigrew -respectively- are currently 17, gangly, and sweating very heavily, sprawled in the backyard of a certain Potter Manor. 

James has long decided he is  _ stuck  _ to the ground by his copious amounts of  _ boy sweat.  _

Peter, poor thing, is burned, and looking dangerously similar to Euphemia Potter’s tomato plant.

Remus is reading a book, wearing sunglasses, and has had the worrisome revelation that the sun is trying to  _ kill  _ him.

Sirius is unsubtly watching Remus with  _ intent _ . According to him, it would be a crime not to. For example; who would make note of the beautiful tan the other boy has gained over the last week? Someone needs to admire the pale splatter of freckles on his shoulders and nose bridge. The soft (now strawberry blonde, literally fucking golden) curls that fall messily in front of his eyes. He’s so golden.

If you were to ask Sirius Black to describe Remus Lupin (that is, as of ‘ _ The Revelation of Year Six _ ’) he would say:

_ Remus Lupin is everything good in this world. He is sunny afternoons under shady trees and warm touches. He’s tawny curls and amber eyes (with a weird mix of green and gold that really can’t be confined to any certain color and changes depending on where the moon is and if he’s horribly sad or exhausted). He is freckles and soft blushes. He is understanding nods and careful advice. He’s flappy when he gets excited, and pulls on his jumper when he gets awkward. He is such a lovely kind of awkward. He is smart, and funny, and...honey.  _

_ Remus Lupin is honey.  _

And Sirius Black is hopelessly in love with him. 

Sirius thinks he may have always been in love with this beautiful ball of stress. Since he first saw the small, sickly boy with wide eyes and anxious hands. And his beautifully large nose, that is really quite adorable. Always a little bit in love.

Sirius’s adventure of discovery to hopeless love was a long one. 

The signs have been there since, forever. 

Puberty and year three made things...more confusing to be honest. 

‘Course, since Sirius loves to work backward, things seemed to get foggier when Remus decided to grow a million inches and come back from summer 15, sun-kissed, gangly limbed, and tall. So very  _ tall _ . 

That was specifically  _ not  _ one of Sirius’s better moments. He was completely breathless,  _ stunned  _ for a moment. He just gaped at Remus, which in turn made the self-deprecating bastard to grow self-conscious and pick at his cuticles with a wry smile.

Now, years of confused internal feelings, and dumb decisions later, here they lay, disgusting in the sun, the summer before 7th year, a barrier between them. 

For more reasons than one. 

First and foremost things had never quite gone the same after Sirius Had His Royal Fuck Up Of All Time. 

At the end of 5th year, Sirius did one of the worst things he could have done, completely unforgivable. He thoughtlessly gave Severus Snape—the greasy bastard—the tools to ruin Remus, and in turn, stopped the world from turning. 

It was an accident. 

Thoughtless really. 

Remus didn’t speak to him for months, didn’t look at him until Sirius broke down one night and begged him to look at him. 

_ —just look at me remus for fucks sake— _

he wished he hadn’t. 

The blankness in Remus's eyes was so much worse than the avoidances. He was used to seeing fond annoyance, curiosity, or sometimes an odd look he couldn’t identify, in Remus’s eyes, but never—never that completely closed off blankness.

At least not since second year when Sirius had confronted Remus about his lycanthropy. 

Sirius, now, after so long, knows why Remus avoided him. Originally he had thought, as much as he allowed himself to, that Remus was mad. Or, felt completely betrayed. Which Would Have Made Sense. (To be fair Remus  _ had  _ punched Sirius as soon as he saw him, and then didn’t look at him for months, so assuming Remus was feeling a mix between betrayal, sadness, and immense anger, would make sense.) 

Apparently—

he  _ had  _ forgiven Sirius, and that was the painful part. 

Remus had reasoned with him eventually, “everyone's alright, you are, James is, Snape is, i...i am. That’s all that matters Sirius. You just have to be more careful.” 

There was an unspoken, “ _ do better, I expected better from you.”  _ He c ould hear the  _ I loved you and I thought you loved me enough for this to Not Be A Situation.  _

Things still weren’t okay. 

Never would be, completley. 

But god was he trying. 

Everyone was. 

It was Sirius's mess but everyone was trying to fix it. 

Remus still flinched sometimes when Sirius would touch him, but he couldn’t not. If Sirius stopped being normal, after everything they’ve gone through, after the fights and the crying and the apologies and the broken hearts, if he stopped trying, everything would be for not. 

He knew Remus was trying too. He knew Remus hated the way he hadn’t said ‘I love you’ in over a year. except for the One Time. He knew Remus hated when he flinched at Sirius's touch, and the tension he would forever carry in his shoulders, placed by Sirius. 

The way he had to rethink everything. Calculate every step. Never get lulled into a “false” sense of security again. 

It's not that things were not...normal anymore, they were, things had just _shifted_.

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure he knew all of which  _ had  _ shifted, however.

“Are my shoulders really that interesting Padfoot?” Remus didn’t have to look up to Sirius staring at him to know he had That Look about him. 

The stupidly gorgeous boy next to him was whirling his brain, thinking about The Goddamn Prank. 

The event that made Remus Lupin realize he was unconditionally in sappy, disgusting, utterly hopeless love with Sirius-Fucking-Shiney-Hair-Stupid-Grin-Black. 

“They’re...very...freckly?” Sirius offers lame-ly, earning a  _ smooth pads  _ from James. 

Remus raised an eyebrow and looked up at Sirius.

He really was breathtaking. In that really thoughtless, careless, effortless, way. 

Him and his stupid cheekbones, and stupid grey eyes, and stupid smile and stupid fucking lovable presence-- 

And the way his said stupid eyes softened to make you feel like the only thing to ever  _ mean  _ anything. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“Thank you, Sirius, yours are very...pale.”  _ Broad. Amazing due to being on the stupid Quidditch team. Marked with a few moles here and there like I often think of kissing.  _

“Poor bloke can’t tan to save his life,” James adds, helpfully. 

“Doesn’t burn either for fucks sake,” Peter mumbles. 

“Alright, sorry I can’t be  _ brown _ like you Potter, and fucking  _ golden  _ like this Welsh idiot,” Sirius said, exasperated. 

“I look like a strawberry pastry,” Peter said sadly.

“I can re-apply the sun protection charms Pete, but, well, they never seem to work, I’m sorry,” Remus offers, cringing when he catches sight of Peters back.

“It’s alright Moony, I’ll peel, and torment Sirius with my skin.”

James cackled at that and grinned at the sky as his laughter floated away with the summer breeze. 

From left to right (from above); James was on the left end, Remus on the right end. Peter and Sirius in the middle, Pete closer to James, Sirius to Remus. Remus was propped on his boney elbows smiling softly at his friends, wearing (in Sirius’s opinion) illegally short trunks (they weren't that short, c’mon it’s Remus) that are navy with rainbow down the sides. James, still grinning at the sky, is wearing bright blue swimming trunks and is browner due to the sun. Peter, facing Remus and Sirius, on his stomach, eyes closed wearing orange trunks, cheeks and chin red. Sirius was still looking at Remus, positively adoringly, wearing black trunks, still pale and regal. 

Sirius and Remus met eyes, and nothing but overwhelming content passed between them in that moment. Between Remus’s fond crooked smile and Sirius’s gleaming eyes. It almost felt like it used to. But it was ever evident that something had  _ shifted.  _ Neither was sure if it was for better, or worse. 

“Boys, lunch!” Mrs. Potter yells merrily from the back door. Really, the Potters were much too happy, having housed a group of teenage boys—magic, stupid, teenage boys—for the past week. 

“Right, I’ve melted into the ground. I am an ice lolly that has been melted by the sun,” James groans, and makes no effort whatsoever to move. Remus chuckles fondly and stands up in all his tall, tan, freckles glory, and holds out a hand for Sirius. 

Sirius, takes it.

With the help of an amused werewolf, a tired used-to-be-heir, and a sunburnt rat, they got a limbless Potter off the ground, and stumbling sun-happy into the house. 

Fleamont Potter watches them, amused, as he wipes down the counter. Mrs. Potter pushes the plates, that are lined up on the bar, towards the suburnt boys. They each take a seat, her son looking like limbs-to-liquid. Peter, burnt to the high heavens. Remus, the only one who can actually hold a tan, and Sirius totally love-struck by it. Mia was the first to see it, maybe Hope, maybe Monty, realized too. She’s watched the boys grow up, watched Sirius slowly, let down his walls, and  _ allow  _ himself to love something, someone. Watched Remus become less guarded, more trusting. She got to see all their innocent childish love come to bloom. They aren’t subtle about it either. But she kind of thinks it’s mostly just being a parent that gives her the ability to see the little things. The way Sirius's eyes sparkle when he’s looking at Remus, while Remus is enveloped in something else. The way Remus smiles to himself when Sirius looks away. The lingered touches, the stolen glances. She sincerely hopes they get their shit together soon. They could really, truly have something, she just hopes they see that. And don’t let it slip through their fingers. 

Remus whispers something to Sirius, Sirius smiles a little, then Remus winks and leaves the room. Mia smiles and bumps shoulders with her husband. 

Sirius waits for it. He smiles to himself, and waits...there it is! Bowie floats through, into the kitchen, the cords of Changes. Sirius teases Remus endlessly for his favorite Bowie album being Hunky Dory. James perks up immediately, “That Moony,” he said sleepily. Peter chuckles and takes a bite of his sandwich. 

_ I watch the ripples change their size _

_ But never leave the stream _

_ Of warm impermanence _

_ And so the days float through my eyes _

_ But still the days seem the same _

_ And these children that you spit on _

_ As they try to change their worlds _

_ Are immune to your consultations _

_ They're quite aware of what they're goin' through _

Remus slides back into the kitchen and takes his seat between Peter and Sirius. Sirius kicks him lightly and Remus kicks him back; while Remus has an amazing poker face, Sirius cracks immediately and lets out a chuckle. 

Remus ignores him and thanks the Potters for lunch like the respectful boy he is. Sirius has one of his legs held hostage, but Remus seems compliant. James is swaying happily and shoving an entire half of a sandwich into his mouth. 

“Please remember to chew James,” Mr. Potter sighs.

James responds with something that sounds like “of course” but one really can’t be sure. Peter chuckles again and pats James on the back. James, is much like a cat when placed in the sun. He shines a little, and gets really sleepy, and doesn’t move for hours. Slow getting his energy back after being so sun-drunk. They finish their food, listening to Bowie and chuckling about odd comments here and there. 

After they finish, James, much like a fat house cat, slinks off to take a nap. Peter pinches his shoulder and sighs, claiming to be a tomato, and leaves to try and remedy the pain. 

The Potter’s had left the kitchen, retreating to the study. 

Remus lifts up his book to Sirius and nods his head at his room. Or the room he stays in when he’s at the Potters. It’s as good as his. He leaves it there, the light implication. Sirius turns back around, stares at his plate, looks at Remus's retreating back, back at his plate, back at the doorway, and bounds into Remus’s room. He locks the door--thinking o how awkward it would be for a Potter Parent to find Sirius as a great big, shaggy dog--and settles into Remus’s arms as Padfoot. Remus, very domestically, pets him and reads his book. 

And if they woke up, hours later, both in human form, wrapped around each other, that’s no one's business but their own. 

Saturday found the boys terrorizing each other in the lake--they had to take a little hike to, but it was pretty, and tradition. There’s a little dock, worn with the memories of summers come to pass, greenery around the water, vivid in the heat of the summer. The water's surface sparkled, blue crystal disturbed by James falling off Peter's shoulders. The air around them is sweet with summer youth and Sirius’s bark of a laugh. If you are ever lucky enough to get him to laugh hard enough (which you won’t, seeing as Remus is the only one who has the power to make him laugh that hard--other than Regulus) you may even see him snort. Yes, the once heir to the Black family and fortune snorts when he laughs. 

Remus, who isn’t fond of being undressed too often for too long, is taking a break from standing too close to Sirius, opting to pretend to read instead. He laughs softly to himself at Sirius’s pasty ass. He truly is all the regal posh britishness eleven-year-old Remus had both envied and hated. He’d envied how Sirius could speak easily, walk tall, confident, proud for no good reason. Was beautiful from the very beginning without even trying. Mostly, looking back on it, Remus thinks his younger self just hated how Sirius always made him feel. Which was confused, Remus really hated being confused. He liked working things out, finding answers, knowing things, being right. He, however, did  _ not  _ like when he finally figured out  _ why  _ he felt odd around Sirius (Or Fabien Prewett, or Caradoc Dearborn, or Benjy Fenwick who Remus is 90% sure has  _ done things  _ with Sirius--did not help.) 

Remus was thirteen when he finally figured he should cut the crap and climb out of his chamber of denial. It was not an easy mountain to climb, but eventually, during third year, he realized that certain boys, especially Sirius, made him feel warm and squishy inside. (Which he did not enjoy one bit, thank you very much. Remus Lupin, was and is not a warm and squishy person.) The part that made things even more confusing however was that Lily Evans and Mary Macdonald made him feel nervous and sweaty. Growing pains. Objectively he knew he’d rather kiss Sirius (after thinking of kissing Sirius for the first time he couldn't look the boy in the eye for a week) than Mary but he was mostly sure that was because of the person, not the gender. (After a very long discussion with Lily fourth year he realized yes, he was attracted to both, and Lily supplied the term ‘bisexual’ and offered that she, herself, alternated between thinking of Marlene Mckinnon and Kingsley Shaklebolt. Lily had helped him feel comfortable in his own skin, and hopes he’s done the same for her.) 

He closes his eyes and tries to replay the years. He wants to smell the stale sunscreen, hear the echos of  _ race you there’s  _ and irrational  _ do a flip’s _ , feel the grass grow and get stomped under feet around him, taste the change in the air. He wants to see if he can find the exact moment they stopped being boys and started being young men. The moment James’s shoulders broadened, and he started thinking, being rational, responsible. The exact second Sirius suddenly had a defined face and recognized his mistakes, and apologized for them. Even, even the day Peter lost the glint in his eyes that only came from being a kid who didn’t know that the world was sharp and out for blood. The moment they could no longer pretend they hadn’t grown up a long time ago. 

Grown up and into a war, a world crumbling apart around them. 

Remus often feels calmly overwhelmed when thinking of being an adult. Meaning he’s a realist, and good at  _ not showing what he’s feeling _ . So, of course, he saw childhood in a blur like speeding past a street sign. He thinks being 17 is a rather awkward affair. He was either viewed as barely an adult or not quite a child, but still too young to actually be _grown up_. It was the pinnacle of being told to _form opinions, thoughts, make choices_ , but then not being taken seriously, or being told to _be seen not heard_. He also felt neither like a child, nor an adult. Maybe a grey section in the very middle. A ghost of who he used to be and a shadow of who he will be. A whole new development stage, gaining a sag to his shoulders, a constant furrow in his brow, a limp that Promfrey told him will never fully heal, ( _ a cane might treat you well darling, eventually a forearm crutch, I’m sorry.)  _

With growing up, often comes responsibility, more responsibility. He thinks to most kids that probably means getting a job, an apartment, going to Uni, etc. To him it’s running into a war, being used to get information from werewolves, keeping secrets already, trying to figure out how to be an of-age werewolf, and how to go about being in (non-straight, possibly unrequited) love with his best friend. Oftentimes, Remus gets overwhelmed with thinking of all the new responsibilities. So, this summer, he has allowed himself to do exactly one (1) reckless thing. Said reckless thing has yet to be determined, but, he has a sneaking suspicion that it’ll have to do with his best friend, if he’s going to continue to be half-naked, and smiling the rest of the summer. He groans and lays his book over his face. He cannot keep getting hot under the collar for Sirius Black. It’s messy, and he feels like he’s fucking violating him. 

It’s just, Sirius isn’t purely a pretty face. Don’t get Remus wrong, Sirius Orion Black is heart-stopping, breathlessly, drop-dead, gorgeous. He’s pale but not sickly, has sharp but kind stormy eyes, incredulous eyebrows, and a smile that could kill anyone on the spot. He is infuriatingly, wonderfully, confidently, gorgeous. But he’s also the most considerate man Remus has ever met. He is kind in the small, sweet ways that make Remus want to cry. He’s thoughtful in ways very few are. He has a heart of gold, loyalty like no other, and a softness that makes you feel loved and protected. Remus thinks the most amazing part of it all is not how he expresses these things but that he can feel them at all after everything. Yes, he’s guarded, and a little careless sometimes, doesn’t think enough every once in a while, but the fact that Sirius has any softness, any light at all, and is able to be vulnerable with it, that’s the part that makes Remus’s heart stop. 

_ “It takes great courage _

_ to see the world _

_ in all its tainted glory,  _

_ and still to love it.” _

_ \- Oscar Wilde _

“Moony?” Sirius calls over, wading way out on the water. He looks softer, painted in the summer sun, who he is between shadow and soul. His hair is tied up, near the base of his neck, a few strands have escaped, dripping down his face like spilled ink. His eyes are a little more blue than usual, bright for the summer. He has a very soft, very light sunburn on his nose and shoulders, bathing him in rose. He’s fit, he’s toned, he’s squinting and smiling, which is a scrunched, endearing combination. Remus feels his pulse thrum a little faster beneath the pads of his fingertips. 

“Yeah, Pads?” Remus is up on his elbows, using his book to shade his eyes. Sirius has made his way up to him, slowly, keeping eye contact except for a moment when he almost tripped. He’s smiling over at Remus, like they’re in on a joke no one else is. Remus waits patiently.

“You’ve had your break, c’mon back now,” Sirius says as he looms over Remus, a blurry silhouette. All his harsh lines washed out by the sun.

“You’re dripping on me, dog,” Remus says, pushing Sirius so he isn’t standing over him. Sirius just keeps grinning and takes his hair down, shaking it out like a dog. Remus raises an unimpressed eyebrow and shoves his book under a towel. Sirius squats down, and Remus is still on his elbows, which means they are almost nose to nose. (Remus wonders if Sirius thought this through because it makes Remus’s breath catch but he seems completely unbothered!) (Sirius is internally freaking out, but internal things are internal!) 

“Please, come be a nerd in the water rather than up here.” He sighs through his nose and knocks their heads together, “last summer before all goes completely to shite, I want to have good stuff to hold onto.” 

He sounds so sincerely scared, it makes things a little more real, breaks Remus’s heart a little more. It's moments like these that make Remus realize they’ve lost all their baby teeth. Sirius holds out a hand.

Remus, takes it.

Oftentimes Remus plays with the idea of Sirius feeling something other than Strictly Platonic Manly Feelings for him. He isn’t oblivious, not completely. He sees the glances, and the jokes, and the touches, and he knows Sirius sees his. Really, they're doing a very annoying dance called denial. It’s not even a slow, tender, dance, because they’re in denial! Sirius lets go of his hand, letting their fingers brush, deliberately. It’s moments like these that Remus gets a very specific feeling deep in his heart. It hurts just a little, and it’s very specific, a feeling Remus thinks only comes with being in love with your best friend. Correction, being in love with your best friend during your fundamental development years, and never falling out of it. 

If you were to ask Remus Lupin what being in love was like, for him. He’d say; _It’s adoring. Adoring the way he picks up your half-empty tea cups, adoring the way he chews on the end of quills, it’s adoring who he is, his values, and convictions. It’s understanding, understanding that when he turns into Padfoot and climbs into bed with you, it usually means he’s had a nightmare about home and doesn’t want to talk about it, just needs you close. Understanding that when he gets quiet and loses his fight is when you should worry. Understanding that he shows his love in grateful smiles, and shoulder bumps, and getting you food because he knows you’ve been studying for hours and forget to eat. Understanding that sometimes he cries if you hug him for too long because he didn’t get that before, and it hurts and means so much all at once. Understanding that he appreciates certain things like no one else ever will. Being in love, for Remus Lupin, is spilled ink, rosey light, secret smiles, lost touches, and reveling in the simple things. Being in love, for Remus Lupin, is painful, and wonderful, and he’d never have it any other way._

_ “Sometimes people are beautiful. _

_ Not in looks. _

_ Not in what they say. _

_ Just in what they are.” _

_ \- Markus Zusak, The Book Thief _

It was warm the night he confessed, so the window was open. The curtains were flowing, lightly, away from the window. It felt like the epitome of a summer night in his room. Warm, with the  _ slightest  _ breeze. Remus had been laying in bed, jumper-clad (sleeves rolled up to his forearms), just staring at the ceiling. His skin was buzzing, and he wasn’t tired, but he had nothing to do, nowhere to be. It was late, he should be asleep. He could feel like exhaustion deep in his bones, but his mind was a live-wire. He thinks maybe he should have known sooner. He could feel Sirius, his electric magic, on the other side of the hall. 

And then he was in his room pacing. 

Remus is looking at Sirius with a sort of bewildered amusement. 

“Okay here’s the thing Remus,” Sirius says very seriously, “you’re all I’ve thought about for a very long time. Like a sadly long time. And at first, I thought I could ignore it, and it would go away. You know, like when you have an itch. But you are a very persistent and annoying and golden itch. And after a while, I kind of realized I didn’t want the itch to ever go away, I could live with the itch as long as I got to be around the itch and see the itch and love the itch from afar. But believe it or not, that only works for so long.” Sirius sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, “and, I would keep living with it, silently, but I did something really stupid, Like monumentally stupid. Royally, unbearably stupid. After I did said stupid thing, which I will never stop being sorry for, and fighting to make right again, I relaized that I can’t keep ignoring the itch forever. First, I’m not good at hiding it, at all, I am so obvious Remus. Second, it's a cowardly thing to do, to hide how you feel forever, especially in this world, right now. Third, I really just don’t want to anymore! I want to tell you. And fourth, last, but not least, the heat of the summer has made me stupid. So stupid Remus. So I am here, I am standing in front of you right now to tell you that I am so helplessly in love with you. Like, the gross mushy kind of love that makes me think the way you roll your eyes at me is endearing, and I want to wear your sweaters because they’re yours and when you sit in the sun or roll up your sleeves my mind goes to mush. I don’t have a thing for forearms Remus, but yours, yours are the most attractive things I’ve ever seen. It makes me want to pull my hair out. I also wanted to be the first to say anything, in case this is mutual because I need to explain to you that if what I did made you not be able to feel this for me, that’s okay. And if you aren’t ready, or if you just don't at all, that’s also okay. But me loving you is completely separate from the mistakes I’ve made. Me loving you is so important, and big, and completely out of my control. I just needed to tell you, whisper it into the night kind of thing, before I accidentally spilled all my guts during breakfast or something while asking you to pass the butter,” Sirius finishes, losing steam and looking at the ground. He’s in an old Kinks t-shirt and light pajama pants, hair in a messy bun, wand through it. 

Remus stands up, slowly, how you’d approach a stray animal. He positions himself in front of Sirius, takes his chin in his thumb and pointer finger, and raises Sirius’s face to look at him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now, is that all right?” Remus asks, placing a hand on his hip. 

Sirius puts his hands on Remus's elbows, tender, “So polite, Moony.”

“Consent is a kink of mine,” Remus jokes, quickly, before kissing Sirius. And it’s a little awkward, a little too soft, and then a little too much teeth, but there’s so much love between them that it’s hard to care. The kiss tastes like the summer, and salt, and mint toothpaste. Remus’s stale weed and Sirius’s sweet tooth. And Remus is scared of being too much, too quick, but Sirius doesn’t let him pull away yet. Remus is stroking his face, and Sirius is holding his elbows under his sleeves. They do pull away eventually to breathe, and they rest their foreheads together, eyes closed, breath labored. 

“I’m not sure what being in love is supposed to be like, but I think this is the closest I’m ever going to get to it,” Remus rasped out. Sirius’s cheek was in Remus’s palm, and Sirius was holding onto that wrist, stroking the soft veins. Remus felt a tear fall from Sirius’s eye and wiped it away, kissing under each eye, his forehead, the corner of his mouth. “Happy tears?”

“Happy tears.”

Remus looked at Sirius with all his love, his heart, his makings, pure adoration. Sirius felt overwhelmed with it, just the one look. The look he uses to be unable to place. He kissed Remus again, and again, and again, because he could, and he doesn’t care if they have time he doesn’t plan on wasting even a moment of it, because they’ve already wasted years. 

“I don’t mean to soil your good virtues, or insinuate anything, but would you like to stay the night good sir?” 

Sirius laughs, in a relief, and a release of everything, and happiness because he was in love with such a dork but it didn’t matter because right here, in this room, with the window open, as two silhouettes, they were infinite. Living a moment, a turning point, an important memory. 

Good stuff to look back on. 

So maybe you never stop growing up. You continue to learn, and grow, change. And you continue to go about it in different ways, with different people, and you make memories. And when you’re older, and possibly sadder, and all you have is your memories, who you used to be, you’ll thank yourself for living, instead of simply existing. 

_ "Any moment might be our last.  _

_ Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. _

_ You will never be lovelier than you are now.  _

_ We will never be here again.” _

_ \- Homer, The Iliad  _

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
